


All That You Can't Leave Behind

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar's collecting powers but decides to make a personal stop before going after The Company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That You Can't Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Map](https://archiveofourown.org/works/87632) by [levitatethis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis). 



_"No change, I can change   
I can change, I can change   
But I'm here in my mold   
I am here in my mold   
But I'm a million different people   
From one day to the next   
I can change my mold   
No, no, no, no, no   
_ **-The Verve, Bittersweet Symphony**

People see what they want to see.

With a little help they see what he wills into their impressionable minds.

All abilities are worthy, but some are more immediately gratifying than others. The eidetic waitress not only had remarkable visual recall but incredible accuracy, with no expiry date for the use. Hers had been one of his favourites.

The mind and body is a wondrous machine.

Once it has learned something it has the potential to always remember. By that account, things thought lost can be rediscovered. That was how he was able to acquire the illusionist's ability, finally, months after taking her life. With new blood running through his body, hers had been the newest addition to his rather impressive catalogue.

There is always room for more.

With only the old list to work with he has been visiting those people he ignored the first time around. Surely there were new names but without the ability to manipulate technology (yet) he could not decode the now elaborate encryptions that protected those secrets on the laptop he was unable to take with him.

Everything old is new again.

************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**  
_I am a second hand vinyl store clerk._

A musical savant, Nathaniel Olniek lived almost exclusively within the cultured confines of his mind. He rarely engaged others in conversation except when necessary; during a monetary exchange for a newly acquired recording or distractedly ordering coffee.

It required little investigation to confirm the ability he had developed; he used it quite freely with frequency. To direct all focus, to channel his senses into the notes of tonal poetry and prose that pulsed the walls of his brain, Nathaniel had discovered he could crush, or render mute, all external sound waves.

He could soundproof the world.

It only takes one carefully worded conversation with Sylar to convince him to follow and listen to a recently unearthed collection of classical recordings. Nathaniel should be more suspicious but he has never learned to read people, an unfortunate consequence of seeing oneself as disconnected from the world.

They are almost at the back of the store that Sylar has so thoughtfully created when Nathaniel's life is ripped away and Sylar takes possession of a gift he is still uncertain about regarding its usability.

Removing all sound from around him is a strange sensation. Sylar can actually deaden the surrounding world. He realizes how much he takes for granted, all the small indications of existence, of movement, of life.

He wonders if he can focus this ability to only muffle his own presence while everything else seems unchanged.

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_I am a grad student._

She is careful about where she uses it but since most people only have eyes for themselves Saaleha Noor had become apathetically complacent.

Allowing a quick glance around the library first to catch prying eyes, the glasses she had forgotten at home suddenly appear in her right hand as if they were there the entire time.

A pencil, a mis-shelved book, she can conjure it into physical existence, appearing within the folds of her fingers.

Unread books opened up to random page on the table in front of him provide Sylar the guise under which to watch her unnoticed. His most recent illusion is the closest physically to whom he was. Gabriel would have fit in here, maybe even thrived.

A twinge of regret hits him while the brief thought of stolen opportunities gnaws at him. He shakes it off just as fast when he spies Saaleha heading deep into the architectural section.

He thinks about how she is misusing her ability for such mundane, useless needs. It is a wasted gift with potential squashed by the unimaginative mind of the young woman who controls it.

But what it could do; what could be created and if the created could be destroyed to cover ones tracks, there is so much promise.

There are few people on this floor and they are mostly scattered at the other end.

Quietly Sylar stands up and follows Saaleha into the stacks. She glances towards his approaching footsteps and offers a quick cordial smile.

He does not hesitate.

************ ********** ********** ********** *************

_I am an insurance claims officer.   
_  
Sylar despises Blaine Refner from the moment he first lays eyes on him. Weak, pathetic, useless are his first impressions that are confirmed only a day later.

A thousand shades of beige, what Blaine's physicality and personality utterly lack is made up for with what his mind can do.

Deciphering it requires effort on Sylar's part. His initial theory is raised in the coffee shop during one of Blaine's afternoon breaks.

The nondescript man seats himself with purpose at a table near the women's washroom. Sylar watches Blaine's gaze follow a young woman as she goes in. He does not miss the blush that rises on Blaine's cheeks as his eyes stay focused on the closed door.

Sylar can guess the reason but he wants to know with more certainty before he makes his move. This requires Sylar to remain in character as another ill-fitting suit wearing, nose to the grindstone, working hard but going nowhere member of society.

He has not been one consistent person for more than two days since…

And back then he did not have the ability of illusion; rather it was him in a stolen t-shirt with precisely crafted mannerisms.

That is still the most real person he has ever become. The illusion of Zane was something he had tried to hold onto, ironically. Remembrances of a past life tug lightly at him until he pushes them away. They only serve to distract and he needs to focus.

The next day's afternoon break begins with Blaine yelling at a frazzled cashier about change while an impatient line fumes behind him. Blaine is insisting on what coins specifically he wants to make up the dollar and sixty-three cents he is getting back. Even without seeing the money in the machine Blaine seems able to tell the young woman what is in her till.

Sylar watches frustration grip her, the lines in her forehead becoming pronounced as she tries to concentrate on Blaine's orders. Finally she manages to count out the nickels, dimes and pennies for him. There is an audible sigh of relief from the line as Blaine finally stops badgering the cashier and goes to sit down in his regular spot across from the women's washroom. Fifteen minutes later, another woman in the washroom, another rosy blush.

For the first time Sylar contemplates killing a man without taking anything in return simply because his very existence is irritating. Shaking the visceral thought from his head Sylar follows Blaine into the men's washroom.

In the few seconds it takes for Blaine to spin around and whine, "Hey man I'm –," Sylar pleasurably crushes his vocal chords.

It takes no more than fifteen seconds to take what he wants. It only takes ten more seconds to confirm the extraordinary truth.

Sylar now has x-ray vision.

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

_I am Sylar.   
_  
Call it a fluke or coincidence or divine intervention.

Still fascinated with the x-ray vision, Sylar is testing it out in public when he sees a figure looming near a restaurant's patio table while the patrons organize their bags and jackets. Switching it off Sylar sees no one, but with it back on he witnesses the same unmoved figure as it pockets a waiting credit card from the table and walks away.

So brazen is the action that Sylar again shuts off his ability only to see the diners in a sudden panic over the stolen credit card; their eyes scramble to the floor to see if it has fallen.

Ignoring the restaurant commotion Sylar flips his x-ray vision back on and searches out the elusive thief. Relocating him is not hard as he is forcibly, _invisibly_, knocking people on the sidewalk out of the way.

Sylar follows, his curiousity rising with each footstep. However his wonder is not only for this power so flagrantly being used before him but for the potential of the one he is already making use of.

Sylar entertains the possibility of using his x-ray vision to unravel the intricacies of the brain that houses invisibility. He would not have to risk stepping out of the shadows; he could gain power long range.

Contemplation becomes excitement.

The invisible man turns into a deserted alleyway. Sylar grips him in a telekinetic hold before the man realizes he is being followed.

Approaching the stilled body Sylar temporarily shuts off his vision and sees the anger spitting from the eyes of his captive.

"Don't mind me. I just want to see how you work," Sylar informs him.

"Who are you?" snarls the man with a heavy Scottish brogue.

Sylar ignores the question instead allowing his eyes to continue on their mission.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it. I don't have time for --," the accented man attempts to threaten before Sylar silences him with a flick of his fingers.

With his x-ray vision Sylar peers into the mechanics of the brain held firm in front of him. The connections, the links, the energetic flow reveal themselves.

In a few seconds those same secrets, decoded and reassembled, forge a new pathway in Sylar's mind. His body vibrates with the rush. It is his first gained ability without having to make a kill, without blood.

He can take what he wants and, if he chooses, either spare or dispose of the useless life from which it came without a trace.

Sylar leaves the crumpled and unmarked body on the dirty pavement.

He feels ready now. One short of being nearly unstoppable, he needs to track down Claire Bennet. Now he will not need to risk injuring himself to gain her power. Once hers is in hand he will have so many more options at his disposal. No obstacle will be worthy enough to hold him back. Childs play. For fun Noah Bennet will be his first casualty.

The anger burning inside him is resurfacing. He needs to keep it in check. For the time he has lost, so crudely taken from him, he has much to make up for.

Many will pay.

But first.

************ ********** ********** ********** **********   
**  
_I am Sylar. I am Gabriel. I am.   
_  
This was a mistake. He should not have come here.

What was intended as a brief stopover, twenty-four hours at the most, has turned into four days with no sign of the expected urgency to move on.

That in its self is a problem.

It had seemed simple enough. Without revealing himself, a combination of invisibility and turning himself into a soundless predatory creature, Sylar had schemed a selection, innocent in nature, of mind games to screw around with Mohinder before continuing on with the more serious mission that lay situated upon the horizon in another household.

Finding Mohinder living alone in the apartment, indications that Matt had moved Molly for safety reasons while Maya seemed unexpectedly missing in action, should have made Sylar's simplistic game that much easier.

The exact opposite had come to fruition.

It had begun with measured maneuvers around his adversary's person and living quarters. In retrospect it seemed so childish: moving objects like pens and papers almost immediately after Mohinder had put them down and turned away only to turn back and find them gone, or he would step into Mohinder's personal space and quickly brush by him, even at times purposely throwing Mohinder off balance.

First reactions were as expected. Instinctive annoyance at the slight irritation, Mohinder would brush away at the unseen pest, turn away, walk away; or mutter an obscenity in a low breath.

Sylar reveled in the exasperated agitation conveyed by Mohinder's eyes. He wanted Mohinder to feel himself losing his mind.

Sylar cannot say for certain when it changed.

It could very well have been that first night when he made the decision to take advantage of Mohinder's sleeping state.

"Mohinder," he hissed into the man's ear while he dragged a finger across Mohinder's forehead in a straight line.

Sylar forced a restless night, never letting up. Variations of "I've found the child," "You'll never stop me," and "You made me this," followed with cruel deliberation as he encouraged Mohinder to the brink of exhaustive panic, tossing and turning, sitting up in a cold sweat with his eyes shooting about the room.

Amidst that nocturnal chaos Sylar was mesmerized by Mohinder's fiery resistance whenever his eyes flew open at the latest annoyance, and the still blissfully peaceful expression that took over as he eventually dozed off again. Even in sleep Mohinder housed the characteristics that defined him so well in his wakened state.

Sylar had eventually taken to sitting on the floor next to the side of the bed, intently watching Mohinder's sleeping form. He allowed his own mind to wander.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
**  
In retrospect, the next day was the first indication of a change. At the time, however, Sylar had convinced himself otherwise.

The start of that day Sylar did not put much effort into convincing himself to stay. He just did not leave; instead he walked the layout of the apartment watching Mohinder, without intrusion, going though his daily life.

It was the evening of the second night while Mohinder was washing dishes and Sylar leaned against the counter next to him that Sylar saw Mohinder stop, freezing in place and slightly turn his head. An unreadable expression on Mohinder's face, Sylar could see his furrowed brow as if he was listening closely or remembering something important.

Just as fast as it had started Mohinder had uttered "hmmph", shaking his head. He had finished the dishes and then, picking up a book, he had headed over to the sofa to read. Sylar had followed him to the living room and saw that although Mohinder's eyes scanned the pages of the book he seemed distracted.

A quick movement brought him to his feet and over to his laptop where he began scrounging around, an air of ever growing desperation about him. Sylar watched the agitated man curiously. Hearing a nearly inaudible muttering he had inferred what Mohinder was searching for.

When the annoyed man had stalked with frustration into his bedroom, opening and slamming drawers, Sylar, who had remained by the laptop, manifested a flash drive, like one he had seen Mohinder use before, in his hands and soundlessly placed it near the foot of the desk.

Inconspicuous enough to have been missed the first time around, it would be easily found the second time.

Sure enough Mohinder had spotted it a few minutes after returning. To Sylar's curiousity Mohinder did not proceed to save anything off of the laptop. Rather he had held the drive in his hand, turning it over, his eyes lingering before pocketing it and heading back to his book.

That night Sylar ensured another restless sleep but not with disturbed utterances. The effortless move of brushing the hair back from Mohinder's face, subtle enough to not awaken him in a fright yet firm enough to elicit a rousing stir from the dreamer; Sylar's actions were less troublesome and more inquisitive in nature.

He could not account for the change in his own behaviour except to tell himself he was not in the mood to torment Mohinder that night.

Nothing else.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
**  
The third day Mohinder did not flinch from or brush away Sylar's grazes.

Sylar could not tell if Mohinder was purposely ignoring the suggestive contact or if he no longer noticed. He wondered if his persistence had cost him any edge he once had. Sylar dared not question if Mohinder still felt it and…welcomed it.

But then it had happened so casually.

Mohinder had been sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Sylar, leaning down to look over his shoulder at the article, let the fingers of his left hand brush against Mohinder's left forearm that was resting on the table. There had been no response and so Sylar had barely noticed.

With his face so near to Mohinder's, Sylar's breath had grazed along Mohinder's neck. Mohinder had consciously turned his face to the left, towards Sylar. Their faces only inches apart, Sylar had held his breath and waited with puzzlement over the moment.

With a slight sigh, of no clear meaning, Mohinder had sat back in his chair. The movement almost brought their bodies in contact; Sylar backed up just in time to maintain his cover.

So unexpected was Mohinder's gesture that Sylar was immediately unclear about how to read into it, if anything at all.

His x-ray vision was useless here. It would never tell him what he wanted to know. For all the sophisticated abstractions of the minds that he unriddled and unwound, Mohinder would always remain somewhat elusive where it counted most. Such was the price Sylar had to pay to be near him. He justified this by reminding himself that Mohinder was in the same position with regards to dissecting him.

Initially maintaining his distance Sylar had backed up across the room eyeing Mohinder as he stood up and began cleaning up the mess that had accumulated in the apartment.

Once feeling resettled, Sylar had cautiously moved himself closer again until eventually they both stood, side by side, with Mohinder looking outside the window upon the street below while Sylar watched him closely.

Mohinder's heart beat steady, his breathing was calm and unchanging. Sylar took him all in.

Sylar watched warm eyes following the scatterings of strangers below and the rhythmic rise and fall of Mohinder's chest. Sylar watched the twitch of a smile as it appeared at the corner of Mohinder's lips with the suggestion of words on his tongue being held back.

Mohinder had then turned towards Sylar as he headed away from the window and towards the bedroom. But there was no intimation that what had happened earlier was anything out of the ordinary.

That night Sylar let Mohinder sleep. It was his first restful sleep in nights.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
**  
He does not want to.

Which is precisely why he should leave.

He is getting too comfortable with only him and Mohinder in the otherwise empty apartment. It already feels too natural; too much like a time he never thought would exist again.

Today Sylar has delivered orders to himself to move on. He needs to refocus his attentions on preparing himself so that he can eventually go after those who tried to turn him into a test subject, willing to kill him in the process. One more power, he can taste it, and then he can take them all on.

It is the middle of the afternoon and it has taken this long for Sylar to finally admit that now is the time. A nagging thought had been scraping at him since that first night, that it would be a long time until he is able to come back here.

The day had been a quiet one with Mohinder lost in deep thoughts for most of it, his eyes turning to the front door regularly in expectation of something, Sylar can only guess at what. Another reason he needs to get out of here.

Mohinder is standing next to the kitchen table cupping a mug of hot chai in both hands. Sipping slowly, his eyes look across the floor at the laptop on the desk.

Sylar, who has been waiting for the most opportune time to slip out, convinces himself to just leave even if it means bringing unwanted attention to his presence.

One last mind twist for the road, one last picture to take with him, Sylar steps up close to Mohinder and uses his right hand to lightly trace his fingers along Mohinder's left cheek.

The only reaction of Mohinder is to put down the mug but he keeps staring straight ahead. Sylar begins to turn towards the door when he hears Mohinder speak.

"Sylar?"

Shocked, Sylar freezes in place and turns back to Mohinder who is now looking right into his eyes.

Correction. Mohinder is looking right through him. Mohinder is _guessing_.

An unseen smile forms on Sylar's face. He resists the temptation to respond; instead he waits. Silence stretches out between them. Mohinder's gaze remains firm and Sylar feels as if the man is looking right inside of him. Still, Sylar bites his tongue and waits to see what Mohinder will do.

"If you do anything to Molly, _anything_, I will make it my life mission to destroy you piece by piece."

Sylar lets out a quick laugh at the threat, that no one hears. He has no intention of harming Molly. It is not that he does not want her ability but he is fully aware that she is the line that cannot be crossed with Mohinder unless he wants to ensure Mohinder's unrelenting wrath. Even without needing to kill the child to gain her power Sylar suspects that Mohinder would still see the act as an assault. It is not a risk Sylar is willing to take just yet.

His eyes clasp Mohinder's and he sees that fiery drive that he has come to admire so much in him. This is how he wants to remember Mohinder while he is away. Now he can go.

A sharp pain pierces Sylar's left arm. He had not even noticed Mohinder carefully reaching into his pant pocket to remove a needle that has been ready and waiting ever since Sylar had first reappeared months before. A just in case insurance policy.

Briefly losing control, Sylar begins visibly phasing in before Mohinder's shocked eyes. Sylar's shout of "Ow!" thunders against the walls. He yanks his arm away from Mohinder, the surprise in his own eyes matched by the ones staring back.

"My god," Mohinder gasps, his theory manifesting as reality.

Taking back control of his body Sylar turns invisible again. Racing to the door he throws it open and rushes out. Mentally berating himself for screwing up he can barely hear Mohinder dialing his cell phone.

As Sylar rushes out of the building onto the busy street below the last words he hears Mohinder's panicked voice speak are, "Elle! It's Mohinder. Find Peter. Sylar's back."

Rushing along the street, knocking unsuspecting people over, Sylar wonders what the hell Mohinder has injected him with. He sees the bewildered looks on the faces around him as his presence goes back and forth from nothingness to unsteady realism.

Proving to be tougher to control himself, Sylar drags his stumbling body deep into an alleyway. Further in he falls to all fours. Crawling towards one of the building walls, he is now hidden from street view by a dumpster.

Sylar manages to turn himself over so that he is sitting up against the wall. He tries to relax his rapid breathing. Despite not having total control over his abilities and a slight haziness in his mind, he feels okay.

Closing his eyes and taking deep deliberate breaths he hears a familiar heartbeat approaching him.

Sylar cracks his eyes open to see Mohinder nervously walking in his direction. Mohinder kneels down next to him.

"Calm down," are the gentle and authoritative words from Mohinder's mouth while he places two fingers on Sylar's wrist checking his pulse.

"What the hell did you inject me with?" Sylar bristles.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with right now," Mohinder replies and he moves his fingers from Sylar's wrist and places them on the side of confused man's neck, continuing to measure his pulse.

"Are you here to watch me die?" Sylar asks; his worried question disguised in the tone of defiant threat.

Their eyes meet and hold onto each other. Between them passes taunts and uncertainty, threats and relief.

"Die?" Mohinder finally says warily.

A small mocking smile plays on his lips before he continues.

"Oh no, I'm not done with you yet." 


End file.
